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Z has been listening to Julius Caesar (Shakespeare’s version) and is inclined to let slip the dogs of war

I’m going to have to stump up for the https thingy, I suspect. It’s a nuisance and this is already a secure website, but most search engines insist on it, or will do soon. Apologies if you’re getting warnings that I’m dangerous, I’m not.

Today, I’ve mostly been weeding the vegetable garden. It’s been a month or so since I did any weeding, I’ve no one to blame but myself, but it’s a bit of a tedious job. Still a couple of beds to do, but the most easily swamped plants are no longer surrounded by unwanted stuff. We had the first courgette with dinner tonight – of course, in a couple of weeks we’ll be desperate to give the surplus away, but the first few are a great treat. Globe artichokes will be ready by the weekend, a couple of weeks later than last year. I noticed a lot of wild strawberries, self-seeded for several years in the bed by the wall, but usually the birds get them. I must pick some tomorrow. So delicious.

RasPutin the tomcat, father of the barn cats, disappeared for several weeks and turned up again yesterday morning, looking very thin. All the same, he turned up his nose at Whiskas and pushed his son away from the remains of Eloise cat’s food. I take her leavings from the day before to augment their breakfast. I’ve got a pouch of her food down there, in case he turns up hungry, which is stupid of me but I can’t help being soft.

Update on the footpath thingy – I’ve now had a letter from the guy who was on my doorstep, apologising for the imposition of turning up unannounced (with my name thoroughly misspelled) and asking formally that I will consider a permissive route across my land. I sat on it for over a week while I thought about it. In the wee small hours, I drafted various replies, most of them very long-winded and detailed, but I wrote back fairly simply saying that I did not accept that the footpath should be diverted at all and that I had not been given enough information to … actually, I’ll quote it. Here’s the very note, this is what I wrote:-

I received your letter asking for a permissive footpath across my land and will explain the aspect of you and your colleague’s visit that I was not happy about: that no notice was given of your “big ask,” as you put it, and that you did not clearly explain the circumstances around NCC’s wish not to repair the footbridge, nor what options had been considered.

The current path is a public right of way and, if it were on my land, I would be expected to keep it in good repair. It has always been in regular use and, even after the bridge collapsed, it was still used until you blocked it with a gate this spring.

Closing or diverting a public footpath is a legal process and consultation is required before it can be considered. The NCC website states that there is a temporary diversion in place and that repair work may last for several months: there is no suggestion there that you wish to close or permanently divert the footpath. I have no reason to accept, at this stage, that permanent closure is necessary, as your letter gives no information at all.

This is the screenshot from the NCC website, which I took in case they change it. I feel that I’m being set up. If they apply for a diversion, having persuaded me to allow it, the villagers will blame me for facilitating it, but if the whole thing is closed, the council will make sure it’s known I refused a diversion. The whole thing smells bad. I have been told that, although the Environment Agency wants absurdly big foundations, a temporary scaffold bridge does not hold that requirement. Although temporary, it can last for years. I still don’t see how foundations for a footbridge can be said to cost more than the building of a house. But I haven’t gone into that in my letter, I’ve swatted the ball back into their court.

The electricity here is now guaranteed up-to-date. I haz a sustificate and everything. I asked him to look at the annexe fuse board and that needs replacing too. Jolly good job I’m a pensioner now and so can afford all these luxuries.

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4 comments on “Z has been listening to Julius Caesar (Shakespeare’s version) and is inclined to let slip the dogs of war”

Brava! These council johnnies must do a “slithering-out” course after being elected. Or maybe they’re hoping that the current muddled education system means people will not be able to formulate an erudite reply? Good thing your araldite, innit.

It’s not elected councillors, Di, this is County Council officials. The men who came round were wearing sweatshirts with Bridges Team and the one who wrote to me is a Trails Officer (you can imagine the rolling, boggling eye emoji).

That’s what they have in mind, Beryl and they assumed I wouldn’t notice.

I’m holding back on the FOI request at present BW, for one thing I think it’s better to deal with a person at present and for another, I really despair at the effort I’d have to go to in order to make it. Our electrician is on the Parish Council and is a very smart chap, I showed him the letter I’d received, which he scanned in case the PC hasn’t been kept informed (which he suspects is the case) and have cc’d the PC clerk with my reply.

The Unobservant Eye of Z

Dramatis personae:
My husband, Lovely Tim or LT for short (though he is actually tall).
My late husband, the Sage, aka Russell.
My children: Dearest daughter Weeza, who has London Ways, is married to Phil. Their daughter is Zerlina Buttercup and their son is Augustus Bufo. Elder son - Al X, is married to Dilly. Their children are Squiffany Virgilia, Maximus Pugsley and Hadrian Swallow. Younger son - Ro married to Dora and their two-year-old is Rufus Russell.
Big Sister: Wink. She lives in Wiltshire, 230 miles away, but we're much closer than that.
We live with our cat Eloise, a black tortoiseshell half-Ragdoll.
Bantams live in the garden and cats live in the barns but we feed them and they have ambitions to be pets too. In addition, cows come to visit in the summer. Mostly, they stay in the fields. None of them has got a hoof in the door yet.
There is an annexe to the house, where Roses lives and her beloved, Lawrence, spends a lot of time there. Her son, Boy, lives there too.

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Updating takes too much memory, sorry - but then I'm not very young any more, so am hanging on to the memory I've got. Please don't look for any significance in the order - I'm not drunk but I am disorderly.

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Oh, what's the problem? This is hardly Great Literature. I'd appreciate anything taken from here being acknowledged, and I might change my mind if I'm suddenly proclaimed as the Literary Queen of the Blogosphere - but I probably wouldn't. Do what you like, just as long as it doesn't extend to defamation of anyone, even me.

Actually, you want to pass off what I say as your own, I might even be flattered. Let's face it, who cares anyway?